#218: Nostalgia is a special place 🙃
"The portent may itself be memory." -Wallace Stevens
Dear reader,
This morning, Co-star told me Don’t look back. But the day presented itself in the most unmistakably nostalgia-soaked way possible.
I received a call from my favorite teacher from Rishi Valley, who happened to be in town. An hour later, I was sitting across Rajan and sweet Anu Akka, talking about school and nature, showing them how QR codes work, telling them about all the things I’ve been busy with over the year, and walking down memory lane over peri peri fries at a cafe with magenta bougainvilleas spilled on the floor.
When I bid them adieu, I visited Milton Park in Cooke Town, my old neighborhood, and took a little post-lunch stroll. How lush and green the trees have gotten, far wilder than I remember. See for yourself!
I walked down the lane past my old flower seller outside the local department store Basha, past the familiar buildings of Lloyd Road and my favorite Lightroom Bookstore. I said a bittersweet hello-goodbye to my old apartment:
And then I crossed the railway station to the Kcymaerxthaere mural I created with Poornima and Vinay back in 2021. It’s gotten a whole lot dustier with time but standing under the Wheeler Road flyover and looking at the painting on the wall took me right back to those three days in December of 2021, yellow paint on our faces and smiles all around.
My day was looking rather meh before I ended up at Cooke Town. But thanks to an infusion of nostalgia, I haven’t stopped smiling since. Time machines really do exist!
Poetry Corner
Four nostalgia-inducing poems I came across today:
1. Little Stones at My Window by Mario Benedetti
(for roberto and adelaida)
Once in a while
joy throws little stones at my window
it wants to let me know that it's waiting for me
but today I'm calm
I'd almost say even-tempered
I'm going to keep anxiety locked up
and then lie flat on my back
which is an elegant and comfortable position
for receiving and believing news
who knows where I'll be next
or when my story will be taken into account
who knows what advice I still might come up with
and what easy way out I'll take not to follow it
don't worry, I won't gamble with an eviction
I won't tattoo remembering with forgetting
there are many things left to say and suppress
and many grapes left to fill our mouths
don't worry, I'm convinced
joy doesn't need to throw any more little stones
I'm coming
I'm coming.
2. Pomegranate by Gemma Gorga
(Translated from the Catalan by Sharon Dolin)
I pry out the seeds with my fingers and all
my memories spill onto the frosty marble
counter. Little, lit up like ruby-red carnival lights,
rough as the cat tongue of Time
inviting us to sit at the table to gobble us up
in a mouthful. The pomegranate returns
late autumn, ready to ruin us, on whichever night
we are in the kitchen, distracted by dinner: very lightly
it stains our fingers that pensive, murky color,
the color hours take on that won’t
clot—the open color of memory.
3. Things I miss by Nadia Faydh
When I wake up to the cloudy sky
Of London,
I feel overwhelmed:
A fit of yearning.
It is not that I want to go back,
but simply miss the way it was:
The sunny mornings,
The fresh smell of Cardamom
My mother used to make with tea
Or the smell of fresh bread,
When my father is back from the bakery …
Maybe I miss those Fridays,
When all the sisters gather around;
Voices of playing kids
Filling the air with delicious noise,
“the house can’t take us all,”
I would say,
My mother would stop me…
She likes it when we’re all there.
Maybe I miss dad’s big smile:
when his granddaughters
Greet him with a kiss.
I miss watching all the girls
Working in the kitchen,
Or Sit to the table laughing loud …
Dad would come in, take a picture,
To remember those moments I miss!
4. December 17, 2022 by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
Mom makes the chocolates
while I chop nuts and make dough—
we listen to carols and sing along
as we have since before I remember.
The kitchen smells of mint and sugar
and I try to press the memory
between the pages of the day.
Perhaps it is a blessing
to know how fragile it is, this life.
I let myself fall all the way into the moment,
the sun long gone, but the house
still pulsing with love, still warm.
Music on a Monday Evening
I made my first playlist of the year. And it’s delish, like the black coffee I’ve been brewing for myself of late (It involves a weighing scale, precision and patience).
Happy listening and swaying.
These made me smile
Forest by Forrest Gander, with art by Katie Holten (Loved this format!)
Liquid Cats (Thanks for sharing, S) + Cats at Leisure
Meeting Grief with More Love, More Love | Rosemary Wahtola Trommer
Book Nook
I started the year by cleaning my bookshelves, removing the books I know I would never read, and have been proactively trying to read at least 10-20 pages every night. I’m going to hold space for some of what I’m encountering in these books.
Last week, I finished reading Anupama Raju’s C. I have always loved her poems, but her novel and how she writes about nature had me smitten. Here are some out-of-context lines from the book that I underlined:
…despite the absence of the sun, I feel safe. The night is where I belong.
How do animals respond to the constant dark? Don’t they get depressed?
Windows are my friends…They remain a channel, a connection, a conduit for raw energies flowing into me.
We have an appetite for all things absurd, we humans.
Threads have a magical way of fixing things. We just need to know how to use them.
I was at peace before him. I am in pieces after him.
And a page from The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker, which I’m currently reading:
I’ve seen this book on the bookshelves of all my friends with creative practices, and I can totally see why. Do subscribe to this newsletter, if you haven’t already, and definitely treat yourself to a copy of the book.
Found this on Tumblr. Seems like a good way to end the newsletter:
Bye for now. Good things are coming.
Love,
Rohini
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Thank you for penning this down. Even my day was nostalgic since the morning filled with smiles and while reading this, I revisited my day as a whole.